


This Definitely Isn't What I Signed Up For

by knightlyss



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, and he works in a video store, angsty because that's apparently all I know how to write, don't ask me why it just happened, murphy is a trash child with a heart, older!murphy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightlyss/pseuds/knightlyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Give it back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You give it back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My sister really wants to see that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tough shit.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Definitely Isn't What I Signed Up For

 

 

He's not really sure why it all happens, but it does.

 

It starts with her looking like the literal definition of a goddamn princess, like Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty or Rapunzel or whichever blonde one that slept a thousand years and still managed to snag the prince. Except where her hair should be all blonde and smooth, it's messy with pink streaks and tied up in a bun, small tufts sticking out like they're trying to escape the confines of the hairdo. She couldn't be a more cliché teen if she tried, with her scuffed up sneakers, a hole in her jeans and a Superman T-shirt that's definitely seen better days.

 

She smacks _A Walk to Remember, the Fault in Our Stars_ and _PS. I Love You_ in front of him, the cases making a thump against surface of the counter.

 

Alright, she could definitely raise the cliché bar.

 

“Rough day?” he offers, somewhat smug.

 

Her raised eyebrow is definitely telling him to fuck off, but she doesn't reply, so he considers that a bit of a win, scanning her card and her choice of movies, telling her to have them back in three days, no later than 6pm. She salutes him, scooping up the movies and throwing them in her bag and is out the door before he can really process what's happened.

 

 

~*~

 

 

She's back three days later, depositing her rental DVD's at the counter at 5.59.

 

“Cutting it kinda close, don't you think?”

 

She shrugs, “But I'm still on time.” She looks unbearably pleased with herself as she says this, and he's half temped to tell her that the clock on the wall is actually three minutes behind, but he somehow can't bring himself to wipe the smile off her face. Instead he nods, scanning the rentals and sees her wandering around, already looking for something new to devour. He can't help but blink at her choices when she comes back, but still scans _the Last Song, Safe Haven_ and _Stepmom_.

 

There's definitely a pattern here.

 

 

~*~

 

 

He's not sure how it was possible to be more confused, but then a new arrival comes up to the desk with copies of _the Bucket List, Life_ _a_ _s a House_ and _50/50_.

 

What the fuck?

 

He can't help but study the dude before him while he scans the card and DVD's. He's tall, freckled, no older than eighteen, definitely just as typical as that wannabe-princess, worn down boots, washed out jeans and a black T-shirt that reads YES, THEY'RE REAL, STOP STARING in huge block letters.

 

“Something wrong?” Freckles asks, giving off a somewhat sardonic and crisp air, like he'd really rather be anywhere else than here.

 

“Just wondering if you wanted _Steel Magnolias, Brian's Song_ and _Terms of Endearment_ to top off the list,” he replies sarcastically. Freckles looks surprised at the recommendation.

 

“That would be great, actually.”

 

He blinks and stares, snapping out of it for long enough to head towards the back of the store, coming back with the last two and scanning them as well, completing the odd set. Freckles thanks him, promises to be back with them all in three days, and leaves the store with a smirk as the door closes behind him.

 

Seriously, what the fuck?

 

 

~*~

 

 

Princess is back, and she's pissed.

 

“What do you mean, you don't have it? It was here yesterday.”

 

“That's the funny thing about rental. People rent things.”

 

She's staring him down, and if were any other man, he would probably wilt under her gaze. As it is, he's plenty used to having people stare at him like they want nothing to do with him. He's learned to take it in stride by now.

 

“Fine,” she finally sighs, heading towards a corner of the store, looking around. She comes back with just one movie this time – _Sweet November._ Good lord. “Three days for this, right?”

 

He nods and they go through the usual motions which end in her shoving the DVD into her bag, but before she can make it to the door, Freckles arrives and practically shoves his way past her, as if summoned by some strange force that it seems only masochists are attracted to lately.

 

This should be interesting.

 

He marches straight up to the counter and deposits his rentals before heading towards the previously occupied corner. Princess, who has been following him with her eyes all the while, catches sight of the new stack of films, promptly walks over and snags the top one, _50/50_. “Oh thank God,” she says happily, throwing down her card once more. He has the strangest urge to laugh while he scans the additional movie and hands it over. Of course, Freckles decides to come back at around this moment.

 

“Where's _Sweet November_?”

 

He snorts and points towards Princess, who is unsurprisingly smirking back at them from her spot near the door now, crossing her arms and staring them down. Freckles glares, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

 

He should have made popcorn for this.

 

“My sister wanted to see that,” he says pointedly, as if that should make all the difference in the world. Princess only shrugs at him, holding up her bag, waving it at him in a taunting motion.

 

“And yet I got here first,” she says, giving him a final wave before walking out the door. He's not in the least surprised to find Freckles turning back to him immediately, looking pensive. Brown eyes narrow in thought before a smirk settles on his face.

 

“What's the last movie she rented?”

 

“Can't say,” he answers with a shrug, because really, who would want to know that anyway? Freckles scoffs.

 

“It's not a hospital, for fuck's sake, you don't have doctor-patient confidentiality.”

 

“We also don't really have any records.”

 

“You scan the movies!”

 

“Alright, so we do have records, but we hardly ever use them. It's practically a spreadsheet,” he counters, hoping, and already knowing, that he won't convince stupid freckle face to just turn around and leave. He heaves a mighty sigh after a minute and pulls up the rentals for this week, which thankfully aren't many in any way, shape or form. Like he said, it's literally just a spreadsheet. Every day, he manually types in every single thing anyone rents. Comes with being outdated and old as balls. Scanning the cards and DVD's are really just a formality at this point.

 

Freckles smirks wider when given the information on the princess's rentals, and before he knows it, there's a new stack of films laying in front of him. All teen movies, _Dear John, Now Is Good_ and _Here on Earth_. “Just these,” he says, sporting a shit-eating grin.

 

It looks like a declaration of war.

 

 

~*~

 

 

The thing about Murphy's Rentals is that it's a small place. It's sizable enough, but more of the quaint and cozy variety. They get pretty much all the movies that come out, including the odd indie ones that no one wants to see, but not many people actually rent physical copies of movies anymore. There's Netflix, Hulu and a thousand other legal and illegal streaming services, and rental places are more or less of a dying breed.

 

Look at Blockbuster.

 

Still, Murphy's somehow manages to stay up and afloat, definitely in part thanks to his grandparents. He can't even begin to imagine how he deserved them in the first place, so drastically different from his actual parents. John Murphy has always been a bitter person, and there's no way around that, not any more. Still, his grandparents for some unimaginable reason love the bejeesus out of him, glaring flaws and all, and he is practically bathing in said love day in and day out, even on the days where he'd rather be left alone. Somehow, it never manages to smother him.

 

Which isn't exactly a terrible thing, when your drunk ass mom is in prison for something stupid and your dad died of lung cancer many years ago. Like stated before, he's always been bitter.

 

And then there's his girlfriend, Emori, who somehow manages to be the same as him, broken and alone, yet brighter and more playful than the sun itself. He doesn't even properly remember how they went from one night stand to her standing at his front door, duffel bag in hand as she announced she was moving in with him. It just kind of happened, organically, naturally. She's definitely too good for him, and he's way too much of an oily shit stain in the world tapestry to be good for her, but she doesn't seem to care at all. She takes his moods in stride, counter attacking them with her own sometimes, and they manage to get along better than he ever thought was possible.

 

Between her studying and her job waitressing, and his job at his grandparents' rental store, they make due. It's not that he doesn't love his family with all his heart, despite what other people might think, but there's no way in hell that he's gonna live off said family paying for a deposit _and_ rent. His grandparents may have been loaded once upon a time, but he has still has his pride.

 

Thankfully, there are no hard feelings between any of them. In fact, his grandparents were more than happy to hear him being so adamant about moving out at the ripe age of eighteen, always believing that he would make a name for himself one day. They all managed to meet in the middle, with his grandparents paying the deposit in the end, and him and Emori taking care of the rent. Every weekend it's insisted that they all eat together, and Murphy and Emori are usually treated to a spectacle of love and magnificent food every time.

 

Funny how grandparents always see the best in broken things.

 

The second most important thing that manages to keep Murphy's Rentals afloat is the wave of nostalgia that washes over every other hipster within a six mile radius. He never thought he'd ever have to thank an idiotic beanie wearing bushy beard with Starbucks in hand for coming by once a week, but wonders never cease apparently. It's most likely the wish for things to remain the way they were that lures people into the store every other day, and it's what keeps money in his pocket and food on the table.

 

It's also what lets him use people watching as an excuse for working, like now, as he watches Princess stroll up casually to the counter, returning her rental from last night. She offers him a somewhat tired smile, and there are dark circles under her eyes, but she still has a lightness in her step as she heads towards a nearby shelf.

 

He busies himself with scanning the DVD and erasing it from this week's spreadsheet, hearing her scoff loudly after a few moments. She's back at the counter in no time.

 

“ _Now is Good_?” she inquires, and he makes a point of checking the spreadsheet, even if he already knows that it's definitely not there. She nods at him when he looks back up, obviously not needing him to confirm it at all. Then, in a move he could never have predicted in his life, she walks to the back of the store that's near the counter, sits down and leans back against one of the shelves. She pulls out a sketchpad, a pencil, and a box of chocolates, crossing her legs in front of her.

 

“Are you seriously making camp?” he hears himself say as he leans over the counter to get a better look at her. She looks up at him from the drawing she's working on (and it's apparently a drawing of his profile too, what the ever loving hell?), dropping her pencil to grab the box of chocolate, holding it out in front of her.

 

“Toffifee?” she offers innocently.

 

Thankfully, Freckles arrives before he can even begin to ponder an answer to that question, and he sees her attention practically zeroing in on her new apparent nemesis, dropping the box and her sketchpad on the floor and getting on her feet. “There you are,” she says conversationally, sending him a brilliant smile. Freckles looks torn between surprise and amusement at finding her there, ultimately settling on the latter, walking up to the counter.

 

“Fancy meeting you here, Princess,” he smirks (oh good, the nickname is catching on), pulling a few DVD's out of his messenger bag and placing them on the counter. Princess walks up to him and looks at the rentals, her eyes following the movies one by one, until her eyes light up when she discovers the one she wants. Her hand shoots out to grab it, but Freckles notices, snatching it back and holding it over his head like they're on the damn playground.

 

“I thought you were done with that,” Princess complains, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at him. He shrugs in return.

 

“Maybe I want to see it again.”

 

She scoffs and glares, her gaze going back and forth between his face and his hand, until she finally nods to herself, turning towards Murphy and reaching over the counter, grabbing the copy of _Sweet November_ that he hasn't put away yet. She turns back to Freckles, starting to fan herself with her own hostage, her smirk telling him to make his move. He glares right back at her, slowly lowering his arm.

 

“You already gave that back.”

 

“Maybe I want to see it again.”

 

It's probably very wrong to feel the hysterical laughter pressing against his throat, and he must have made some kind of garbled noise, because both of them turn to look at him with fire in their eyes, and he manages to fold his features into something like innocence, the smirk dropping off his face. “I have nothing to do with this,” he says resolutely, gesturing towards the two of them with one hand.

 

Take it away, strange terminal disease groupies.

 

“Give it back.”

 

“You give it back.”

 

“No way.”

 

“My sister really wants to see that.”

 

“Tough shit.”

 

They both stare each other down for another minute before Freckles finally sighs, lowering his hand completely. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he looks at her, eyes seeming to dance across her face before he finally speaks.

 

“Look, I really need that, okay? All my sister wants to do now is hate the world and trash talk any and all movies with terminal diseases in them, and I know that sounds weird, but you're not exactly helping here, so please... can you just hand it over?”

 

It's clear that Murphy isn't the only one that hadn't expected such a confession. Princess looks completely taken aback by the words, her mouth parting as she stares a little. As if to underline his point, Freckles reaches out and offers her the copy of _Now is Good_ , letting it hover in front of her as she still stares at him.

 

“Fine,” she finally says, seeming to snap out of her daze, placing the DVD on the counter in front of them. They all stare at it for a moment, like it's the Holy Grail.

 

“Thanks,” Freckles mutters, placing the other DVD next to it. They turn their eyes expectantly to Murphy suddenly, as if they're expecting him to have all the answers. He clears his throat, trying to ignore the tension that has settled over them.

 

“Cards?”

 

 

~*~

 

 

He's in the middle of scanning _Keith_ for a certain freckleface _,_ when Princess makes her way through the door, nearly tripping over the doorstep, catching their attention. She blushes a little as she rights herself but otherwise ignores her mishap, stepping up behind him to wait for him to finish. Murphy sees him tense a little, his mouth settling into a thin line as he does that jaw clenching thing again.

 

He's on his way out as soon as he's paid, turning on his heel and damn near marching towards the exit. Princess looks almost worried as she watches him go, a frown on her face that disappears when she turns her attention back to Murphy, pulling her rental and wallet out.

 

“Thanks.”

 

She pauses in her payment of the late fee, turning to watch him curiously. Freckles has a tight hold on the door, fingers tapping against the wood and looking deeply uncomfortable at his admission, and Murphy is trying his hardest by now to pretend he doesn't exist.

 

_Not my business, not my business, not my business..._

 

“For the other day,” Freckles clarifies, and he nearly scoffs. Like she could have forgotten.

 

“You're welcome,” Princess says somewhat softly, and the mantra in Murphy's head becomes louder. He really did not sign up for this heart to heart shit. Figuring that this could probably take a while, he allows himself to step away from the counter and sit down on the stool in the corner, grabbing his worn down paperback version of Lord of the Flies. Princess decides to continue the awkward conversation, apparently. “Did your sister like the movie?”

 

“Kind of,” he hears Freckles say, sounding a little put out. He focuses hard on the page before him in order to not look up. “She thought Charlize was a bit of a dick, but I think she's more nitpicking than anything.”

 

“I guess I can see why she'd think that,” Princess says, and he sees her shrug out of the corner of his eye. “That's always the common theme in movies like that. Don't get too close, you won't like it, but no wait I love you come back!” She whimpers this last part dramatically, earning her a chuckle from Freckles. He looks up at that.

 

That's new.

 

For a moment they just look each other, and he feels a burst of irritation that is probably uncalled for, but he can't help himself. He lets the book flop down in his lap for a second and raises his voice at Freckles. “If you're going to stand there all day, could you at least close the door?”

 

To his credit, Freckles tries to look more sorry than he probably is, mumbling a half hearted apology as he closes the door. Murphy gives a nod and goes back to his book, not missing the way the princess actually scowls a little at him, like he'd done wrong. It's September soon, it'll get colder any day now. She's the one in the wrong, damn it. Miraculously, Freckles picks up on conversation before Princess can rip him a new one.

 

“How was that Fanning one?”

 

She seems to ponder the question for a moment. “Good,” she settles on, and he sees that shrug again. “Cliché, but good.”

 

_Look who's talking_ , he thinks to himself, turning the page.

 

“Sometimes cliché is good, I guess,” Freckles counters. “A happy ending here, a joke so bad it's good there... Somebody dying without a broken heart for once.”

 

More than a little surprised at the change of tone, he looks up, but Freckles is already halfway out of the door, throwing a casual 'see you later' behind him. He sees Princess look rather taken aback, her body practically stiffer than a board. Hell, she's probably got whiplash from that display. Also, Freckles is apparently the embodiment of a drama queen.

 

Fucking hell.

 

After a minute she turns towards him, and he already knows what she's going to ask. Wordlessly, he puts down the book, hops off the stool before she can open her mouth, and he walks around the counter, picking off the rentals that Freckles got the last few times he was there. It should probably worry him that he can remember most of them, but it's a small place, and these two weirdos are practically helping the business rise above for the moment with the pace they're setting.

 

She stares rather dumbly at him when he comes back with the stack, slowly picking up the movies, studying the cases and taking those aside that she wants to watch. He goes through the usual motions, and she packs up and leaves, still without having said a word.

 

 

~*~

 

 

He gets the answer he never wanted to a question he never asked.

 

It doesn't surprise him in the least when Princess comes back with her rentals three days later, casually asking him if Freckles has been by yet. He snorts and tells her no, and she tries hard not to look too disappointed as she heads towards the spot in the back of the store, dropping her things and making herself comfortable on the floor, sketchpad in hand again.

 

“This isn't a motel,” he grumbles while scanning in the DVD's she returned. She shrugs, frowning at the sketch she's working on, but otherwise makes no effort to reply to his complaint. He's half tempted to throw her out, but he somehow knows that for some reason that would not only piss off the princess, but Freckles as well.

 

God knows why.

 

She gets up and places a box of chocolates in front of him then, those damn toffifee things from last time. “I don't like chocolate,” he hears himself say, as if he needed to make things worse by drawing more attention to himself than necessary. Princess scoffs as she walks back to her spot, plopping down on the floor and picking up her sketchbook again.

 

“Everyone likes chocolate.”

 

“Not me,” he counters, which probably isn't the most mature way of handling this. John Murphy is many things. An adult isn't one of them. There's still a bit of anarchism left from his early youth. Fuck everything that moves, fuck society, fuck life. These past few years though, he's ironically starting to feel more like a grumpy old man than anything, but it's too late to turn that around now. He'll grow old ahead of his time, so what.

 

“Suit yourself,” Princess almost snaps, her pencil drawing sharp, precise lines on the paper. He rolls his eyes and decides that now is definitely the time to ignore her, before things will snowball and get out of hand. Besides, he's sure that when Freckles finally arrives he'll be subjected to what could only compare to an angsty young adult novel, and that is really not what he signed up for when he told his gramps that he'd work here.

 

He does his best to immerse himself in the lives of pre-adolescent children stranded on a desert island, and has clearly succeeded, because there is a sound of plastic against wood that makes him jump in his seat some time later.

 

Freckles looks far too happy, smirking from ear to ear, and somehow Murphy is tempted to smirk back as he hops off his stool. It's not that Freckles is a dick per say, but he doesn't appear to be a totally terrible person. Of course, Princess speaks up from her spot on the floor.

 

“Was it any good?”

 

“Terrible,” Freckles says without looking at her, turning away and walking towards a shelf at the far end. He sees her get on her feet, stretching her legs a little to get rid of cramping before walking towards the counter. She picks up the movie before Murphy can scan it, studying the back of it before putting it down, only to make her way towards Freckles.

 

“Melodramatic?”

 

“Way too melodramatic. And that whiny singer can't act for shit,” Freckles adds, eyes glossing over a shelf before his hand reaches out to grab a case to look at. Princess shrugs.

 

“He can sing at least.”

 

“He should stick to singing then.”

 

“Not arguing with you there,” Princess mutters, turning away from him to head back towards her belongings. Murphy realises quickly that he's gone back to staring like a moron, and scans the item in question (Freckles is right, just from the cover said dude looks like a whiner), sits himself back down and takes his book in hand, turning a new page and ignoring the look he's getting as she passes the counter. She starts collecting her things, and he can't help but cast a glance her way, eyes landing on the sketchbook she's stuffing into her bag. She's still in the process of drawing him apparently, her shading and clear cut lines are making him look angular and menacing.

 

He's not sure if that's good or bad.

 

“We should make a support group.”

 

Wait, what?

 

“Huh?” Princess asks, turning to look at Freckles with what can only be described as a combination of fright and curiosity. Murphy can't help but follow her lead, forgetting to stay out of it. Of course, Freckles somehow manages to look smug, although Murphy think he's detecting some nervousness laying just under the surface.

 

“For the terminally ill,” Freckles clarifies with a shrug, apparently deciding to jump headfirst into the clusterfuck that is this odd conversation. “Get together with other people maybe, watch a movie, trash it for being inaccurate. Do the whole 'misery loves company' thing.” Princess does her best immitation of a fish while Murphy bites the inside of his cheek, forcing himself into going back to his book.

 

This can't get any worse.

 

“I thought your sister was the one who was sick,” she says finally, after a minute or so of utter silence. He nearly groans.

 

Apparently, it can.

 

“Nope,” Freckles says, popping the 'p' and sounding so casual about it that Murphy abandons all hopes of ever reading again. He watches the unlikely companions now standing a few feet apart from each other, having some stort of showdown, their gazes moving over each other like they're sizing each other up. Luckily, they seem to have forgotten all about him for the time being, so he resorts to sneaking occasional peaks from the raised book in front of his face.

 

“Terminal?”

 

“Yep. You?”

 

“Ditto,” Freckles says. They quiet for a moment before she clears her throat nervously.

 

“SCA.”

 

“PD.”

 

“Oh, come on,” she groans, and Murphy frowns in confusion, eyes going to her. She looks exasparated to say the least. “Parkinson's? That's unfair.”

 

“Unfair?” Freckles repeats, looking vaguely horrified at her outburst. Murphy can't really say he blames him. She crosses her arms.

 

“Yours is a disease everyone has heard of. Mine is so obscure, you'll have to look it up.”

 

“Are you seriously arguing about popularity of terminal illness?”

 

“I'm just saying no one really knows what Spinocerebellar ataxia is. I'm betting there's not even a movie about it.” She gestures towards the rows of shelves of DVD's behind her, and Freckles follows the movement with his eyes, still looking a little miffed and taken aback. To Murphy's horror, Princess turns to him. “Help me out here. Is there some way you can google it?”

 

He's in hell. There's no other explanation for it. He's died at the ripe age of twenty-one, and this is his punishment for being a shithead.

 

“I'm sorry?” he croaks, not sure if the question was even directed at him. She looks unimpressed. Freckles says nothing, only stares, although it does look like he's trying to hold back a smile now.

 

“Can you google it?” she says slowly, like he's some kind of idiot. He suppresses the sudden urge to scowl at her, not even bothering to acknowledge her request verbally, instead getting out of his seat and walking up to the counter, dropping his book on the flat surface. He sees her give it a once-over while he starts typing into google, wondering how on earth he should actually construct the sentence other than 'terminal disease movies'. Who even keeps track of that shit in the first place? Don't they have anything better to do?

 

It turns out such a movie actually does exist.

 

“There's one I think, but it looks like it's in Japanese.”

 

“See?” Princess said pointedly, throwing her hands up. “It's a disease so obscure, Hollywood hasn't even touched it.” Surprisingly, her sentence is followed by Freckles barking out a surprised laugh, amusement overtaking him. Murphy shakes his head fractionally. They're both fucking crazy.

 

“Want me to see if I can get it?” he asks then, not really knowing why those words are coming out of his mouth. This isn't something he does for anyone, ever. People come and go here, and he's polite when he has to be, but they never order anything specifically for any individual. Both of them look at him curiously, Princess actually looking a little grateful at the suggestion, but she still shakes her head at him.

 

“I'll bet the rest of my chocolate it's on Youtube,” she says, and he shrugs. It probably is.

 

“Suit yourself.”

 

“Wait, so how did you know what PD was?” Freckles asks, looking at her curiously. Murphy can't help but feel a little smug when he sees her blushing.

 

“I was pre-med,” she explains, giving off a shrug that's clearly meant to convey that the past tense doesn't bother her. It doesn't take a genius to see that it has the opposite effect, and Freckles looks a little sheepish at having asked the question in the first place. He reaches up and places a hand on his neck, rubbing it, and they stand there awkwardly, not really looking at each other, and Murphy is fighting against every bone in his body to find the nearest pillow and scream into it in frustration.

 

This whole situation is so fucking ridiculous. Who in their right mind opens up to a complete stranger in the middle of a rundown video store? Several times, even?

 

“I was going to be a teacher,” Freckles says then, breaking the silence, his words sounding more like an offering than a statement. A peace offering. Princess just shrugs again, her hand going to hoist her bag over her shoulder.

 

“At least there's a western movie about your illness.”

 

“There is?”

 

Princess smiles, walking past him and over to one of the shelves, coming back with _Love and other Drugs_ , throwing it on the counter.

 

“You're welcome,” she says, grabbing her box of chocolate before disappearing out the door.

 

 

~*~

 

 

A month later, it still doesn't make any sense.

 

He won't pretend that he's not uncomfortable with the fact that he's basically been thrown back to his retail days, existing in some kind of alternate universe where he's an inanimate object that people converse around. He couldn't care less about the basic gossip of who's dating who and which asshole racist fucked up the black kid at school, but that doesn't mean he welcomes the information being thrown at him. He'd worked in a supermarket one year in college, and it had nearly driven him crazy.

 

In a place like this, things are different. More intimate. Needless to say, when the society's norms transfer to here, everything weighs much more than it should.

 

And yet, he doesn't really think he can bring himself to be angry about learning their fates. These two kids, both definitely a few years younger than him, walking around each other whenever they meet like they're sharing a secret, finding camaradery and solace in each other's diagnosis. It makes him feel like a confidant, like he's important. It gives him a weird sense of purpose like he's part of the secret too, and he's not so sure why that makes his heart stutter.

 

“You can't be serious,” he hears Princess saying as she walks in the door, followed by her now constant companion. Freckles rolls his eyes and follows her to the counter, where they both deposit their latest haul in front of him. He nearly snorts at the sight of so many damn chick flicks in one batch, more than half of them no doubt revolving around the lover dying in the end.

 

“I'm deadly serious,” Freckles says, digging out his wallet and finding his card. Lately they've resorted to sharing accounts, for whatever reason. Murphy dutifully ignores the discussion, and starts with scanning _Third Star_ from his batch, and _Autumn in New York_ from hers. “Pun intended,” he hears, followed by a smack against a certain someone's arm.

 

“I am not going, and that's final.”

 

“Come on, Princess. O really wants to hang out outside the house, and to be honest, this pity party is getting to her head. So, you know, she wants to go to an actual party instead.”

 

“I don't care. I'm going to look like an idiot.”

 

“You always look like an idiot,” Freckles retorts, and there's the sound of another smack. Murphy hides a grin, finishing up the stack and goes to sit down and wait for them to find something new. He catches Princess staring at her new friend, arms crossed, looking half amused, half ready to throw him in the trash.

 

“You're aware that your disease is still neurological, right?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “It affects your _limbs_. We're going to look ridiculous.”

 

“Please, we haven't lost complete motor control yet. And if we ever did, we'd be tearing up the dance floor.”

 

“Maybe you would. I'd probably just embarrass myself and pee my pants.”

 

If that ever happened, I'd spill my drink, and we'd do the walk of shame together,” Freckles says with mock solemnity, causing her to laugh, sudden and bright.

 

“My hero.”

 

Freckles grins back, teeth all sparkly like a fucking cartoon, and they make their way towards different shelves, casually throwing suggestions at each other when they find something they want to watch/tear appart from inaccuracy. Murphy grabs his book and does his usual impression of 'I'm not here', but it somehow doesn't feel quite as horrible this time around. The atmosphere is much more relaxed than usual despite the heaviness in the conversations they've just had (and why do they somehow always have it here, of all places? He'd rather not know the details of how their bodies will eventually fail them, thank you very much).

 

Of course they manage to surprise him as always when Princess suddenly stops besides Freckles near one of the shelves. He looks down at her as she tips up on her toes, and his hands reach out to steady her as she cranes her neck to whisper in his ear about something. Freckles looks contemplative, pulling back to look her in the eye, and Murphy sees them nod at each other. Princess turns around with a smirk on her face.

 

“Want to come to a party?” she asks, and his brain short circuits immediately because _shit_ , he literally can't think of any excuses that will get him out of it. Also, did they just ask him to come to a party?

 

Why?

 

“Why not?” Freckles asks with a smile, tugging up one shoulder, letting Murphy know that he'd unfortunately thought that last bit out loud. He resists the urge to introduce his palm to his forehead. It's not that he doesn't like them. They're nice people. He doesn't really know them, though. To make matters worse, his traitorous brain is providing no possible alternative.

 

“Can I bring my girlfriend?” he asks finally, seeing no way out of it except to bring her along. Princess smiles brightly, and Freckles grins.

 

 

~*~

 

 

The party is a success, and he learns a bit more about Freckles and Princess. He and Emori are introduced to their friend group, and it somehow works out between all of them, despite their differences in age and gender. He wouldn't necessarily have pegged them for being so diverse when it comes to that, but there's apparently a young brunette with a boyfriend that's older than Murphy, and two lanky boys that look like dorky fourteen-year-olds.

 

He goes home from the party with a smile that fades when he remembers why he was there in the first place.

 

Emori falls asleep on top of the covers as soon as her head hits the pillow, and he tugs a stray hair behind her ear and kisses her forehead before settling in beside her with his phone. Google keeps him up all night with stupid articles from places like Wikipedia and Mayo clinic, as he finally allows curiosity to lead his finger to point to practically anything that has to do with the fateful worlds he's been thrown into. He finds the symptoms for both of their diseases. He even stumbles on that stupid Japanese movie on Youtube.

 

They continue going to the store.

 

Murphy switches places with Princess every once in a while, so she can sit and draw without hurting too much. He puts up a sign that says _PLEASE DON'T SKETCH THE STAFF_ , and she laughs and tells him explicitly where he can stick it, her words slightly slurred.

 

Freckles rolls his eyes when his fingers won't stop twitching as he pulls out his wallet, and Murphy tells him to calm his fucking jazz hand. Freckles flips him off with his good one, chuckling all the while.

 

He declines their continuous invitation to their pity parties, offering slasher movies as recommendations instead, and Princess literally boo's him over the phone because of it. He makes it up to her by buying her more toffifee. Freckles kisses his cheek in thanks the next time they meet, and Murphy runs off to wash it off while threatening to ban them from the store, hysterical laughing following him the whole way to the bathroom in the back.

 

They switch over to the terrible slasher flicks after about a year.

 

 

~*~

 

 

“Sorry I'm late, the restaurant was swamped. I met Gammie-Ann on the way here though, and she's insisting on dinner tomorrow night, so I was thinking we could...”

 

She finds him sitting in front of the TV, staring at the black screen. The movie had ended ages ago. Freckles' baby sister had returned it, her eyes red rimmed and her cheeks puffy as she clutched her brother's card to her chest. He'd stared at the DVD in his hands, eyes reading the words _My Sister's Keeper_ over and over again like a taunt.

 

He'd taken it home and popped it in, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his chest.

 

He hates irony.

 

There is the sound of soft footsteps padding up to the couch, and she appears kneeling in front of him. She reaches out a gentle hand and starts carting her fingers through his hair, and he wants so badly to lean into her touch, but he can't get his body to move _._ He manages to find her eyes.

 

“Nicholas Sparks is an asshole.”

 

She nods, giving him a heartbreaking smile full of love, hand sliding down to take hold of one of his. She tugs it gently towards her.

 

“Come to bed, John.”

 

He does.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I tried writing fluff and it came out angst. Oh well, at least Murphy is fun to write. I'm not even going to pretend to know what I'm talking about in terms of the diagnosis stuff. As always, no beta.


End file.
